


DELICIOUS

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: HANDS OFF [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, suggested incest, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FOR THE KINK PROMPT:</p><p>At some point in the past, Sherlock developed a sexual interest in Mycroft. Mycroft learned about this somehow -- Sherlock outright hitting on him, Sherlock covertly trying to get him into a sexual situation, Sherlock just plain not hiding his feelings well enough to elude Mycroft's powers of observation, whatever.</p><p>Mycroft responds with strong disapproval, telling Sherlock exactly and specifically how messed up what he wants really is. Something along the lines of "And what exactly were you hoping I would do to you, Sherlock? [Extraordinarily elaborate, detailed scenario]? That's truly disgusting."<br/>Sherlock gets off on it, of course. So does Mycroft, but he should be able to maintain his facade the whole time, and he should never actually do any of the things he mentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DELICIOUS

**Author's Note:**

> I love Holmesest. I love it. Okay? I just do. I don't feel guilty cos it's two very yummy actors playing the roles of brothers. HOT brothers. Doing things to each other. Things I want to film and play back later in the comfort of my own room. With snacks.

DELICIOUS

SHERLOCK knew lusting his brother’s touch was wrong. He didn’t much care. He thought for a long time Mycroft did not much care either. His older brother was so much smarter, he must have seen the signals Sherlock was giving him from fourteen onwards, in his budding pubescent stage.

Sherlock labelled himself gay of course, oh how he loved boys, but Mycroft…Mycroft was special. And Sherlock deserved special.

Trying to kiss his brother in the upstairs hallway one Christmas disabused him of any returned lusty feelings on Mycroft’s part. He rebuffed his brother gently, telling him no, but assuring Sherlock that yes, he loved him, no he was not “in love” with him.

It was a lie, of course.

Sherlock could never get the heat and hardness of his brother’s body far from his brain after that, and he hated the red haired git for it.

This was partially why he turned to Victor and drugs. Trying to get his brother’s beauty out of his mind. It worked for a while of course, but then it all spiralled out of control.

He ended up strung out in some filthy place and Mycroft had to rescue him. Sherlock knew he had looked his absolute worst that day, skinny and dirty with hair as long as a girls and matted with filth. But Mycroft still picked him up and cradled him and took him home.

It was a horrid few weeks of withdrawal but finally Sherlock emerged as his pretty, sweet-smelling, and curly-haired, peaches-and-cream faced self. Mycroft made him a gift of clothing, smart suits and crisp shirts, and told him to clear whatever he wanted to eat with the kitchen staff. He could have anything, even toast and jam and tea, if he wanted.

Sherlock was never so in love with Mycroft as he was during those weeks of rest and recovery.

So one night, despite his logical brain saying no, he hunted Mycroft down and found him in his library, crackling fire, cherry-wood desk, and files and files and files of government paperwork in front of him.

“Sherlock, please, come in and sit. Distract me for a while from…” Mycroft waved at the papers. “All this….”

Sherlock sat on the couch facing the desk and the fire. Mycroft poured him a scotch, rounded the desk and handed it to him. Sherlock took it in hands gone desperately steady, to show that this was fine, it was all fine.

“How are you feeling?” Mycroft asked, turning to pour himself a scotch too, then leaning against the desk, legs out and ankles crossed. Mycroft had divested himself of his jacket, and tie, but still had on his waist coat, undone, and shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair was a curly mess from many running’s-through with frustrated fingers and Sherlock had never seen a prettier thing.

“I am feeling much better.” Sherlock said, and gulped the scotch, almost choking but holding it together. He knew Mycroft could see the fire in his eyes, the man was a genius.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft’s voice dropped low and it went straight to Sherlock’s groin. 

“Mycroft I am sorry, I cannot help it.” Sherlock sighed, defeated. “I know you refuse to have me but I want you so much…” His eyes skittered away to the rug, and his face flamed in mortification. 

“Sherlock, it is only convention that keeps me from kissing your scotch-wet lips right now.” Mycroft said, voice a mere murmur, looking at the scotch he swirled in his tumbler, arms crossed, so casual, as if what he said had not set other parts of Sherlock ablaze.

“Myc…don’t…please…” Sherlock whispered.

“I love my job Sherlock. If they found out how much I want you nothing would save me. And brother dear…” Mycroft looked up, straight into Sherlock’s face. “I want you.”

Sherlock’s fingers went loose and he dropped the glass to the rug with a dull thump. His other hand went to his cock, which was thickening in his pants. He adjusted himself even as he knew he should protest….

“Christ Mycroft.”

“When I saw how much my not having you cost you…when I saw you half dead in that filthy pit…” Mycroft’s voice went wobbly and he threw back the last of the scotch. He placed it back on the desk and crossed his arms again, looking at Sherlock with pure heat. “I nearly gave it all up. For you. I love you so.”

“Mycrofffffft…” Sherlock moaned, nearly sobbing. It was both the best and worst thing to hear. Mycroft wanted him, but the job…the job was so important!

“But I can do so much for the country, and for you, if I remain in the position I have.” Mycroft finished. “It is the only thing stopping me from taking those delicious lips of yours in mine and kissing you so hard, and with such heat, you forget your name…”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed. Oh, that would be heaven.

“I like to kiss with tongue Sherlock, and I imagine your tongue would be a clever thing in my mouth. Would send all sorts of filthy thoughts to my own cock, making me hot with want…”

“God, Mycroft…” Sherlock moaned, and saw just how hard Mycroft was in his beautiful expensive trousers. Could see the outline of Mycroft’s lovely cock, hard, pressing up, wanting attention. Mycroft seemed to ignore it. Sherlock tugged at his own cock and shivered.

“Kissing you, Sherlock, your sulky, petulant, beautiful mouth, would just about send me over the edge.”

Sherlock realised that everything Mycroft was saying was true. He WOULDN’T touch Sherlock like this, in any lusty way at all, but he could give him this. This didn’t count. This wasn’t sex between brothers it was more a three dimensional fantasy.

“Oh…thank you Mycroft!” Sherlock whispered.

“Unzip your trousers Sherlock, let me see.”

Sherlock did so, quickly. He eased out his rock hard cock and was pleased at the way it made Mycroft lick his lips.

“Oh Sherlock, so pretty…”

Sherlock grit his teeth and smoothed his fingers over his cock, running his thumb over the shiny pre cum, loving that it made Mycroft’s breath shudder.

“I would love to get that in my mouth, Sherlock, deep in my throat. I’d let you fuck my face, I’d insist on it.” Sherlock gasped at the word ‘fuck’ coming from his brother’s perfect mouth. “No gag reflex brother mine, educated at Eton…”

Sherlock snuffed a laugh and bit back a groan, imagining a younger Mycroft on his knees, servicing some over-entitled rich boy with more cars than books.

“Sucking you to completion in my throat would be perfect dear Sherlock. I would hazard a guess that you would taste so sweet…”

Sherlock saw Mycroft’s hand snake down and begin to rub at his turgid cock. Sherlock writhed, pressing the back of his head into the over-plush couch and biting at one of his knuckles to stop sobbing out loud.

“You are so pretty Sherlock, I would love to have you under me, spread out and pliable, and allow me to do the things I dream of to you. You’d let me, wouldn’t you Sherlock, you’d let me and you’d beg me…”

Sherlock nodded frantically, hair bobbing, knuckle still in his teeth, other hand now pumping his cock, thrusting his hips up into his fist.

Mycroft moaned and Sherlock sobbed. He knew what Mycroft was doing to himself and it was so damn hot!

“Would you let me fuck you Sherlock? In your tight, pink hole?”

“Yes, Myc, Christ yes!”

“You’d want it hard, a sensation seeker like you, hard and rough and nasty. And I would do that to you, fuck you so hard your head would hit the headboard and you’d love that too, wouldn’t you?

“Myc please!”

“Bend you in half, spread your legs for me, your wet hole open and I could just slide right in, ripple my way deep inside you, fill you so full of my cock…”

“MYC!!!”

“I’d let the swollen head of my prick graze the nodes of your prostate until you screamed, brother mine, and begged and wriggled, and I’d TAKE you…you’d be mine, dirty boy, all mine.”

“Mycroft…Mycroft please…”

Sherlock looked up and saw that Mycroft had himself in hand, was pumping himself so hard his fringe bounced and his waistcoat flapped. The red, debauched look on his face made Sherlock swear, and slam his knuckle-bit hand to the couch. He could feel his orgasm coming, racing up from his feet and he stared into Mycroft’s eyes.

“Mycroft…fuck me…FUCK ME!”

Mycroft gasped a broken wet gasp and fell to his knees, eyes on Sherlock, cock a blur as he fucked himself. He came, desperately saying parts of Sherlock’s name, fell forward on one arm, aiming his seed on the rug at Sherlock’s feet.

Sherlock’s orgasm hit him like a freight train. He had never come so hard in his life, the sight of his brother undone on his knees, the fire of lust in his usually-so-calm eyes, his clothing debauched and his hair in disarray, all because of him…Sherlock screamed and then the world went white as he jerked and thrust and came and came.

And if he heard Mycroft sobbing into the mat as he came down from his endorphin high he would never ever mention it. 

Not ever.

#


End file.
